


a new kind of solitude

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Confusion, Getting Together, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Realization, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-26 17:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “I’d ask if you had fun last night,” Brady says, “but I think I already know the answer.”“Please shut up,” Quinn says. He sounds hungover. Brady is hungover too, but he’s never let that stop him from being obnoxious.“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” he says cheerfully. “Come on, tell me. Who’s the lucky guy?”





	a new kind of solitude

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> endless thanks to g, tj, and dell for their hard work n thoughtful feedback n friendship <3

_ Brady _

The only reason Brady notices anything in the first place is because Quinn has a giant fucking hickey on his neck first thing in the morning. 

It’s actually kind of hilarious, at first. Quinn hates it when Brady notices his hickeys, probably because Brady will invariably be a dick about it. This is because of who Brady and Quinn are as people.

Anyway, Quinn is sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal and looking like death, and Brady can see a bruise right at the place where his shoulder meets his neck. 

“Wow, that’s cute,” Brady says, poking at it.

Quinn, who apparently hasn’t had coffee yet, just grunts. 

“I’d ask if you had fun last night,” Brady continues, “but I think I already know the answer.”

“Please shut up,” Quinn says. He sounds hungover. Brady is hungover too, but he’s never let that stop him from being obnoxious. 

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” Brady says cheerfully. “Come on, tell me. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No one important.”

“If he’s your lover, he’s important.”

“That’s a gross word, and you’re a gross person.”

“Funny how you love me anyway,” Brady says, giving Quinn a noogie. Quinn gives him a murderous glare in return, but Brady’s not too worried about it. If Quinn was actually going to murder him, he would’ve done it years ago. He’s in way too deep on their friendship to find Brady anything less than delightful for more than a couple of minutes.

He lets it go anyway, because he does actually want food, and because he doesn’t think he’s gonna get anything more out of Quinn about whoever it was he was with last night. He’s mostly curious because he’d known everyone who was here for the party, and he has no clue who it could’ve been. Because Quinn’s always been the only one of their friends who liked guys, which— 

On second thought, maybe Brady shouldn’t speculate about who it could’ve been, because that might mean thinking about some stuff that’s really complicated, and personal, and almost definitely none of his business. 

And it’s making his stomach do something kind of weird, actually. Thinking about Quinn with one of their friends, knowing that whoever it is now knows Quinn in a way Brady doesn’t. One of their friends has maybe had his fingers tangled in Quinn’s hair, or kissed at the place where his shoulder meets his neck. 

This is something Brady should probably not think about while he’s in the same room as Quinn, but it’s sort of hard to stop, now that he’s started. 

Thankfully, Matt comes down a few minutes later and makes a beeline for the Keurig, and Brady jumps on the opportunity to think about literally anything else.

“Sup?” Brady says.

Matt glances over his shoulder, then presses the button on the Keurig. Brady listens to the familiar growling noise as it comes to life.

“Heading to the gym,” Matt says, barely audible. 

Brady rolls his eyes. “Good morning to you, too.” 

“Sorry,” Matt says. “I’m kind of in a rush.” 

“Too much of a rush to be polite?” 

“Since when are we polite?” Matt says, grabbing his cup from the machine. The barb is half-hearted; Brady wonders if Matt’s stressed about running late, or if he’s just tired. “We can chit-chat later, if you want.” 

“Fuck off,” Brady says, as good-naturedly as he can, but it doesn’t even earn him a full smirk from Matt, just a weird attempt at one that’s mostly directed at the floor.

“Will do,” Matt says. “Later.” 

“Later,” Brady says, and then Matt’s gone. 

Huh. 

“Did he seem weird to you?” Brady asks, turning to Quinn, who is diligently stirring his cereal-milk. 

Quinn shrugs, non-committal. “Dunno.” 

“He seemed weird to me,” Brady says. 

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” Quinn says, not looking up from the remains of his breakfast. 

Brady’s pretty sure that it’s because he’s trying to avoid eye contact, which makes for a really weird morning. 

…… 

_ Matt _

It’s not Matt’s idea. 

Matt’s had a lot of bad ideas, definitely, but this isn’t one of them. Like, sure, Matt had  _ agreed  _ to it, and he knows it’s probably a waste of time to argue about who started what, but the thing is, Matt needs to hold onto a tiny sliver of morality here, so it’s very important to him that he didn’t initiate any of this. 

Quinn is Brady’s friend, and Brady is Matt’s younger brother, right? For as long as Matt’s known him, Quinn’s been firmly in the category of His Little Brother’s Best Buddy Who Is Always Around, which means that Matt’s predisposed to think of Quinn as a passively annoying, but mostly alright, presence in his life. 

Not that Quinn’s an annoying person, of course. He’s just Brady’s friend, which makes him annoying by association. By himself, Quinn is an okay guy— quiet, dry, not inclined to be particularly unfriendly or particularly friendly, so it’s a surprise, to say the least, when Quinn corners Matt on the staircase at a party. 

The party in question is actually taking place at Matt’s house, and Matt has no idea why it’s happening. Brady had insisted on it, and Quinn’s apparently cohosting; Matt just lives here. He likes Brady’s friends fine enough, but the sight of a keg in the middle of a living room and a bunch of screaming college kids is making him feel like he’s 40. 

“I’m not buying you guys more booze,” Matt says, when Quinn corners him on the staircase. “You have fakes. Use them.” 

“That’s not what I wanted to ask you,” Quinn says, looking vaguely amused. Matt idly thinks that this is probably the main difference between Quinn and Brady— Brady would do some bit where he’d pretend he wasn’t asking for  _ anything, what do you mean, Matthew,  _ and Matt would probably resist the urge to smack him. 

“Alright,” Matt says. “What is it, then?” His patience is running pretty thin right now, on account of the fact that there’s a party going on in his house, and it seems like every song Brady’s friends like is both very loud and very bad. 

Then, in a familiar gesture, Quinn looks Matt up and down. 

Matt blinks. 

So the thing is, Quinn’s gay, which was one of the first things Matt ever learned about him, because he’d told Brady pretty soon after meeting him, and Brady had told Matt, like he was proud of it, or something. Matt, because he was 16, gave that news a solid ‘whatever’ and told Brady to not make it a big deal. Probably because he was being an Over It teenager. Maybe a little bit because he wanted to support gay people without having to think too hard about any of it. 

Which is ironic, considering that thinking too hard about his sexuality has been a pretty major theme of the last few months of his life. 

“Heard we might have some things in common,” Quinn says, casual. 

It’s weird, because Quinn’s, like, a real person who Matt knows in real life, and Matt hasn’t quite reconciled this part of himself with the rest of it. It’s even weirder because Quinn is Brady’s friend, and Matt’s maybe sort of thought that he might come out to Brady at some point this summer. But this isn’t really the timeline he pictured, and also, Quinn knowing that Matt’s gay—probably gay? labels are hard—before Matt’s really had a chance to figure out what and how he’s going to tell people… it’s weird. 

Then again, Matt’s been keeping this stuff totally separate from his Real Life, and he knew that would catch up to him eventually. If he’s being honest, he’s kind of relieved that this is how it’s happening. Maybe that’s fucked up. Matt doesn’t know or care, honestly. 

“What are you suggesting?” he asks. 

Quinn raises his eyebrows. “That you might wanna meet me in the guest bedroom in half an hour?” 

“Why the delay?” 

“We need more booze.” 

“I’m still not gonna get it for you,” Matt says. 

“I’m still not asking you to,” Quinn says. “So. Half an hour?” 

“Fine. Yeah,” Matt says. He hesitates for a second, and then adds, “Just— don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“I won’t if you won’t,” Quinn says. 

“Good,” Matt says. “Because— y’know.” 

They don’t need to name the Brady-shaped elephant in the room, but they both know who they’re really trying to keep this a secret from. It’s not just Matt, either; he doubts Brady would be thrilled to find out that his best friend was hitting on his big brother. Quinn’s got some stake in privacy, too. 

“Don’t worry,” Quinn says. “It’ll stay between us.” 

“Alright,” Matt says, letting some of the tension out of his shoulders, but not all of it. “See you in a bit.” 

“See you,” Quinn says, then splits off to rejoin his party, while Matt turns around and heads back upstairs, hoping he can ignore the noise and maybe, like, catch his fucking breath.

…… 

_ Quinn _

It’s been a few days since Quinn’s really gotten anything out of Brady. 

Like— it’s almost radio silence, except for the fact that Quinn’s staying in the same house as Brady, so they have to interact a little bit. All their interactions have been civil, even friendly. Someone who didn’t know any better might even say it’s normal. 

But obviously Quinn knows better, and Brady’s never fucking civil. 

So, he’s pissed, and he’s not gonna do anything about it, but it’s— whatever. It’s not Quinn’s job to ask Brady what’s wrong when Brady isn’t giving him any real indication that there is anything wrong. If Brady thinks Quinn’s doing something that he has a problem with, he can ask about it himself. 

Because… Quinn  _ knows  _ that he’s doing something Brady wouldn’t like, okay? He knows it’s shitty to keep this from Brady, and even though he has a justification all lined up, he knows he could probably be handling this better. 

Quinn’s not perfect, though. He’s allowed to make stupid, selfish choices sometimes. 

And when it comes down to it, even if Quinn was interested in doing the thoughtful, mature thing here, he’s not sure that would involve telling Brady about this anyway. Matt had specifically asked him to keep it a secret, and Quinn doesn’t wanna fuck things up between them. Even if he’s kind of being a jackass, he’s got his limits, and dragging Brady’s brother out of the closet just because he’s feeling vindictive is about forty steps too far. 

It’s not like Quinn is hooking up with Matt because he wants to fuck with Brady’s head. Matt’s a fine guy, good looking enough if you’re into scruff, surprisingly trustworthy when it comes to shit that matters. 

Quinn trusts him, anyway. 

Plus, they have some shit in common. Shit that comes with being an older sibling, mostly— they’re both protective as fuck, and don’t deal well when shit gets complicated. Quinn’s got his own Brady problems he’s working out, but he’s willing to bet he’s not the only one. Matt and Brady are close; Brady doesn’t know that Matt’s into guys. 

Quinn can’t imagine going through what Matt’s going through alone, and hooking up with him is his way of showing solidarity. 

Really, Quinn’s not trying to be mean, with the whole Matt thing. He’s just— trying to get some stuff out of his system. 

……

_ Brady _

Brady hadn’t even blinked when Quinn had told him, is the thing.

Like. He was a 15 year old boy, and literally everything about him had been formed by hockey, but somehow, he’d managed to dodge homophobia. Even though guys in the locker room called things gay all the time— _ Quinn _ called things gay all the time—Brady had some underlying sense that that wasn’t, like, okay. Or— he’d felt vaguely conflicted, because he knew gay people were, like,  _ real,  _ and figured they deserved to get married and stuff. He just assumed that it was fine because sometimes words meant more than one thing, and anyway, it’s not like gay people would actually hear the shit he said to his friends, anyway.

Obviously he stopped using the word once Quinn told him. It felt weird after that. Even if Quinn didn’t seem upset by it, Brady just. Didn’t feel okay about it, and didn’t want to think about it too much, then everyone sort of stopped using it eventually, and it was whatever. 

Brady figures that if he managed to not be shitty about gay people, it must not be that hard to just. Not hate them. And if Quinn was gay and was more or less okay with it—like, shy, and not really broadcasting it, but didn’t hate himself—then being gay must’ve just… not been a big deal.

There had been a gap between Quinn coming out to him that first time and the next time it came up. Quinn had friends who were girls, but he was also pretty shy, so if he got silent when guys were talking about hooking up and dodged questions when they asked him point-blank about what he’d done and who he’d done it with, it could’ve just as easily been that. 

But then, when they were 16, Quinn told a group of them that he’d gotten a blowjob from a guy. 

Which meant he was still gay, probably. 

Looking back, there’s a pretty large chance the blowjob had been made up. A lie to serve the larger purpose of informing their friends that he was low key into dudes, and wouldn’t make a big deal about it if they didn’t. 

It was hardly a heartfelt story of acceptance, but the guys only asked a few awkward follow-up questions, and Quinn just rolled his eyes and said they were all being weird about it. Which— fair, Quinn didn’t want to answer any questions, but Brady could understand why some guys would have them. Or maybe that was just him being kind of shitty. Maybe if he was actually okay with it, it wouldn’t have been a big deal at all, and he wouldn’t have any questions, and he’d just let it be.

After the whole thing went down, Brady sort of wanted to ask Quinn how he, like, felt? The whole situation had been sort of a shift— not in a bad way, just in a ‘this is new and now what’ way. Quinn had his head buried in his phone, and Brady couldn’t help but nudge him a little with his elbow.

Quinn had tensed, inhaled sharply, then given Brady a sharp nod before relaxing, pressing their knees together for a second before slouching in his seat like normal.

Here’s the thing about Quinn Hughes: he hates talking about his feelings. He’s dry and boring and disgustingly responsible and Brady’s favorite person, and he’s the most closed-off motherfucker Brady’s ever met. It’s maybe because he’s the oldest of three brothers, and it’s also maybe because he really hates it when too much attention is being directed at him. And, like— Brady’s the exact opposite, but they make it work.

It’s sort of like Brady and Quinn have their own language, the kind of thing that happens when you’ve known each other for long enough that you can meet each other halfway. Quinn will maybe lift his airtight emotional walls a fraction of an inch, and Brady will slide his hand underneath to give him a respectful metaphorical thumbs up even if his instinct is to throw a fistful of metaphorical confetti. 

Whatever. Brady’s not the best with metaphors. 

The point is, Quinn hates being told or shown that he’s loved and appreciated in an outright way, so Brady’s gotten subtle about it. Small gestures, like making sure he’s got Quinn’s back even when Quinn doesn’t look like he’s listening, or silently checking in without making Quinn actually talk about shit.

Brady’s a middle child, so he’s used to having to fight for attention, but the nice thing with Quinn is that he’s always paying attention, so Brady feels like he can stop broadcasting shit and just— be. 

It’s nice. 

Anyway. Quinn hooks up with guys sometimes. Brady gives him crap the same way he’d give any of his friends crap for getting laid. It’s never, ever been weird.

But then again, it’s never been his  _ brother _ before. 

Not that Brady is sure about anything. It feels ridiculous to even consider it, but it’s been days, and the clues keep adding up. He’s on edge, waiting to be disproven. He would love to be able to tell himself he’s being paranoid and stop worrying about it.

But then he spots a mostly-faded hickey on Matt’s neck two days after the party, and the day after that one really weird morning. And then he wakes up in the middle of the night and sees the guest bedroom door open, and hears low voices in Matt’s room when he walks past. Yesterday, Brady came home from the gym and found the two of them doing laundry together. 

And the thing is, Brady feels like an asshole for wondering if they lied about doing laundry so they could hook up in the laundry room. There are so many reasons that it just makes absolutely no sense. At the same time, it’s also fucking weird that Matt is doing laundry, and there’s literally no reasonable explanation for Quinn being there helping him.

It’s just strange. If they’re into each other, they should just tell him. He’d be happy for them, and even if it was weird for a bit, he’d probably get over it. But if they’re trying to keep it a secret, Brady thinks they should maybe do a better job, because it’s sort of unavoidable.

That’s what’s really bothering Brady about the whole situation— the fact that they’re dropping huge breadcrumbs all over the place but seem determined to pretend they’re being secretive. Brady thinks it’s a little insulting, which is maybe nonsensical, but whatever. 

Like. Matt and Quinn are Brady’s favorite people in the world, and now they’re out here, flaunting this huge secret they’re keeping from him right in front of his face, y’know? 

It’s just annoying that they can’t seem to decide whether they want to clue him in or not. 

…… 

_ Matt _

“What the fuck, dude, be quiet,” Matt says. 

Quinn nods, his eyes half lidded, then urges Matt to get back to sucking his dick. Matt’s got no idea what he could possibly be thinking about, but with a guy this quiet, Matt would bet it’s something weird. Quiet guys are  _ always  _ weird.

Not that he’s being quiet right now. Right now, Quinn keeps moaning, and Matt thinks it’s kind of excessive. He knows he gives good head, but not, like,  _ that  _ good. He’s pretty sure no one gives head good enough to get moans like that, actually. He’s pretty sure the only time anyone moans like that is in porn, when they want to be heard.

Which, like— if Quinn wants to show off his groaning skills, fine, whatever, but it’s not doing much for Matt, and it doesn’t really seem like the greatest idea in the world, considering he’s pretty sure he heard the front door open. 

But, whatever, they’ve been at this for a while, and Matt’s pretty sure Quinn is close. The moans may be for someone else’s benefit, but the involuntary twitch of his hips that occurs when Matt goes for the deepthroat is definitely sincere. 

Matt’s only been hooking up with Quinn for a week, but he’s done this enough times that it’s not that hard to get Quinn over the edge. A movement of the wrist, apply the right pressure with his mouth, and soon enough, Quinn is coming down his throat.

Loudly.

“Dude,” Matt says, getting up off his knees to sit on the bed next to him. “What was with the noise?”

Quinn shrugs. “Dunno. Did you like it?”

”This is supposed to be a secret, remember?”

“Got it,” Quinn says, rolling his eyes as he stands up so he can get his pants back on. “No more noise.”

Matt watches Quinn buckle his belt, idly wondering if that was too mean; he’s not sure why he’d been so  _ noisy  _ for that, but it’s probably paranoid to assume Quinn’s trying to get caught. Maybe he’s into it. Maybe he was just trying something out. 

“Hey,” Matt says, kicking lightly at the back of Quinn’s shin. “Thanks.”

Quinn turns around. “I mean, no problem,” he says. “I feel like I should be the one thanking you. You’re the one who did most of the work.”

Matt shrugs, and then, to Matt’s surprise, Quinn takes a few steps towards him, standing between his legs.

“I could… return the favor,” he says, putting a hand on the buckle of Matt’s belt and raising his eyebrows.

Matt’s face burns at the offer, but before he gets a chance to formulate a response, the door is being haphazardly thrown open.

“Yo—” Brady starts, but he stops in his tracks before he can finish that sentence.

Quinn practically leaps backwards, but it doesn’t do much to help either of them. If the guilty looks on their faces didn’t give them away, Matt’s very messed-up hair and Quinn’s rumpled clothing probably would have. 

And, objectively, it could be worse. It would’ve been a lot worse if Brady had walked in a minute ago, when Matt still had his mouth on Quinn’s dick, and it would’ve been even worse if Brady had walked in on a time when Matt wasn’t fully clothed. In terms of being walked in on, this is pretty mild.

But still. Matt’s got the taste of his brother’s best friend’s jizz in his mouth, and his brother is standing right there. 

It’s the most uncomfortable, awful thing Matt has ever experienced, and maybe the only tiny blessing of the whole thing is that Brady leaves quickly. Matt doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s going to do—what he’s supposed to do, which piece of this mess he can begin to clean up—but before he can decide, Quinn is taking off down the hall, so Matt just—

Waits. Stands there wondering if that really just happened, and if Brady’s ever going to forgive him for this. He doesn’t know what the fuck Quinn was thinking, setting this whole thing in motion— not that he can blame Quinn entirely, because he obviously had a part in this, but still.

He’s kind of freaking the fuck out, is what he’s trying to say.

……

_ Quinn _

Quinn’s first reaction is shock, but that’s closely followed by an all-consuming anger.

It hits him like a tidal wave the second he sees Brady, and he’s chasing after him before he even knows what he’s going to say. It’s like something’s erupted inside of him, sudden and overwhelming, and now it’s all rushing out of him without his permission. But he doesn’t want to stop it, he doesn’t think— not like he has a choice, but still. 

It’s like—Quinn has absolutely no reason to be angry, and yeah, he had no ground to stand on if he’s gonna pick a fight about this, but that doesn’t mean he’s not gonna try to pick one.

Because he’s fucking  _ pissed.  _

It’s not fair, and it’s not defensible, but it’s just. The truth. 

He’s got years of ‘being the nice one’ points stored up for this exact moment, an entire friendship’s worth of patience and unspoken anger that he’s about to unleash, because he’s finally just— he’s done with this. He’s tired of having, like, the closest thing he could possibly have to a perfect friendship and still being so goddamn angry about it. He’s tired of how Brady is infuriatingly  _ there  _ and normal and fun and great and it still doesn’t feel like enough. He’s tired of feeling like some sort of twisted monster because he kind of hates his best friend, even if he still really fucking loves him. 

“So you’re just gonna pretend like you didn’t see that, or what?” he says, not holding back the 

Brady, for his part, looks thoroughly caught off-guard. Potentially for the first time. Ever. 

“I mean, yeah?” Brady says, after a second’s hesitation.

Quinn scoffs, big and performative,  something he only really does around his parents and brothers . “Typical.”

“Dude, what—”

“You always ignore shit like this.  _ Always _ .”

“Well, fucking— sorry, what do you want me to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, stepping toward him. Brady is so big, but when he’s all defensive, he doesn’t  _ do  _ anything with it. “Just fucking— react. Do something, man.”

“Are you asking me to give you the okay to mess around with my brother?” Brady says, mostly incredulous, but a little angry. 

_ That.  _ That’s what Quinn wants. 

“If you’re okay with it, then yeah.”

“Well, obviously I’m not,” Brady snaps. “But that doesn’t fucking matter, right?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because— because he’s my fucking brother? And it’s super fucking weird?” 

“That’s all?” Quinn wonders if this is just how Matt feels all the time: like his fingernails are already sunk deep into the surface of someone else’s skin and all he wants to do is scratch and claw. It’s intoxicating and terrifying and  _ deeply  _ fucked up, which would explain a few things about Matthew. 

“Dude, what’s going on?” Brady asks. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

“You’re the one who’s making us fucking talk about it.” Brady’s face is bright red, and Quinn can’t tell if it’s fury or betrayal that’s making it do that. “Because I was gonna just deal with whatever the fuck you were getting up to with my brother on my own time and not turn it into a stupid fucking fight.” 

“Since when do you back away from a fight?” Quinn pushes at Brady’s chest, which is a step too far, because something shifts, and Brady doesn’t even look angry anymore, just— lost, scared,  _ sad.  _

Quinn immediately feels like a monster. He tries to push it down, tell himself he’s earned this, but it doesn’t go away, no matter how tightly he balls his hands into fists. 

“Why are you mad at me?” Brady asks, and Quinn can’t deal with how fucking worried he sounds. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Shut up,” Quinn says, but Brady’s still not mad, and this is starting to feel more like a tantrum. “It’s not always about you, you know.” 

“But—” 

“Shut  _ up,”  _ Quinn says, and takes a step towards Brady, grabs at the fabric of Brady’s shirt before he really knows what he’s doing. He’s furious and embarrassed and just wants to fucking  _ do  _ something about it, and Brady is just— he’s so goddamn patient with Quinn and absolutely no one else. Quinn doesn’t deserve a friend like him, probably, especially after this, but he’s still— 

Quinn’s just. Tired of being fucked up over him. 

“Fuck this,” Quinn says, and then he pulls Brady in and kisses him. 

It’s not romantic, because they’re not in a fucking movie, which means Quinn’s anger doesn’t turn into something insistent and hot, and Brady doesn’t kiss him back like he’s been waiting for this for as long as he can remember. Instead, Quinn’s face is just pressed against Brady’s for a few awkward, confusing seconds, and there’s no satisfaction in any of it. 

When Quinn lets go, his hands are shaking, and without saying anything else—without even looking at Brady—he leaves. 

There’s a loud buzzing in his head as he makes his way to the door, but he can still hear it when Brady doesn’t call after him. 

…… 

_ Brady _

Brady is pacing back and forth, thinking about Quinn. 

Obviously. 

There’s the first option, he thinks: that Quinn is just… super, super mad at him, and he’s trying to be as confusing as possible, and that’s why he hooked up with Matt, and that’s why he kept it a secret, and that’s why he got mad, and that’s why he kissed Brady, and that’s why he left. 

It makes sense, because when Quinn sets out to do something, he usually gets it done, which means that if he wants Brady to be upset and confused, Brady  _ will  _ be upset and confused. 

Which he is, so. That checks out. 

Also, Brady’s pretty sure Quinn’s never really wanted Matt before until now. He knows how Brady gets about his family, and knows that fucking with— messing with— getting between— There’s no good way to phrase it, but if Quinn was planning to make Brady feel absolutely betrayed, hooking up with his brother would probably be a good start. 

(Brady’s not gonna touch on the Matt part of this. That’s— it’s too much at once, so Brady is making the executive decision to put that on the backburner.) 

But the thing is… Brady’s pretty sure Quinn isn’t secretly a literal, actual villain. Like, sure, maybe he’s secretly a super talented actor who’s never really been Brady’s friend, but that just seems impractical. If Quinn wanted to pretend to be Brady’s friend all while secretly hating him, Brady suspects he’d be a little more friendly, and also, Brady’s known Quinn since he was a kid. They’re  _ family  _ friends. He sincerely doubts that there’s any conspiracy going on here, and if there is, he knows it doesn’t go that high. 

Plus, Brady might be kind of an asshole sometimes, but he doesn’t think he’s ever done anything worthy of revenge that involves deep emotional manipulation.

Like. Even if Quinn is really, really mad at him, Brady doesn’t think that he actually  _ hates  _ him. And the only reason Quinn would go to such great lengths to make Brady feel like this is if he actually wanted to destroy their entire friendship and Brady’s entire, like, sense of self. 

Which isn’t happening. 

It’s not a realistic option, but it’s sort of reassuring to indulge in it for a hot second— like, maybe Quinn is actually a genuinely terrible person, and Brady doesn’t have to be worried about him, and can just be mad at him for a second. 

Brady is sitting on his bed, thinking about Quinn. 

Obviously. 

There’s the second option, he thinks: that Quinn is just… super, super frustrated and confused about shit that’s got nothing to do with Brady, and needed an outlet for it, and that’s why he hooked up with Matt, and that’s why he kept it a secret, and that’s why he got mad, and that’s why he kissed Brady, and that’s why he left. 

That makes sense because what Quinn did makes absolutely no sense. It’s a classic spiral of,  _ fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything, and fuck you.  _ Maybe Quinn’s been going through some shit and Brady’s just had absolutely no idea, and Quinn’s always been bad with words, so maybe this is the only way he knows how to ask for help: by doing everything bad so that someone finally notices that something’s really fucking wrong. 

But this falls apart when Brady tries to think about what the hell Quinn could be dealing with that Brady had no idea about. Brady doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that he’s pretty good at reading Quinn, and pays pretty close attention, because he  _ knows  _ Quinn is bad at saying shit. He meets him halfway. That’s how they work. So either Brady was off about that and they’re back to Option 1—Brady’s gotten everything about their friendship wrong—or there were some clues that Brady missed. 

It’s not like things have been perfect lately, obviously; Quinn’s been keeping the Matt thing from him for a while, and Brady’s been so cautious about not overstepping. And maybe later he’ll look back and say that he saw this coming because of that, but right now, he feels so goddamn blindsided. He doesn’t usually have to rack his brain to figure out what the fuck is going on in Quinn’s head, because he usually has a lead or two already. 

It’s not that Quinn’s never kept secrets from him; it’s just that Brady usually knows when he is. 

Still. It’s sort of nice to think that maybe Quinn’s just dealing with something big and serious. Not that Brady wants anything  _ bad  _ to be happening to Quinn—the guy’s still his best friend, and Brady wants him to never have to deal with anything negative, ever, at any point—but if it’s something Brady just hadn’t picked up on, something that has nothing to do with Brady, then Brady gets to just be a supportive friend about it. He can magnanimously forgive Quinn for everything that went down, because no matter how much he fucks up, Brady’s not going anywhere.

Brady is lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and thinking about Quinn. 

Maybe— 

Maybe there’s a third option, he thinks: that Quinn is just… trying to say something, and that something is big and difficult and hard to say, and that’s why he hooked up with Matt, and that’s why he kept it a secret, and that’s why he got mad, and that’s why he— 

Well. There’s only one thing Quinn could be trying to say to Brady by kissing him. 

The rest could just be missteps, things he did because he couldn’t face the thought of saying what he needed to, things he did to avoid saying it, even. And that makes the most sense of any of it— Quinn’s not a mean person, and he doesn’t hate Brady. But if he has to confront something between them that’s scary and difficult, maybe some part of him thinks it’s not worth the stress to even keep being friends. Maybe he’s just pushing to see if there’s any way he can push Brady far enough away that it won’t matter.

But it doesn’t make sense, because— 

Because it  _ can’t  _ make sense. 

Or, at least, Brady can’t assume that Quinn— like, that’s not something he’s allowed to consider. Just because Quinn likes guys, doesn’t mean that he has feelings for— 

It doesn’t mean that he wants— 

Like. Brady hasn’t…  _ not _ thought about it before. Just. Idly. More wondering than thinking, really. It’s just— it can’t be an option, because it  _ can’t be an option.  _ That’s what Brady’s always told himself. 

But.

Quinn kissed him. 

And maybe it’s not too much of a stretch to consider the possibility that maybe Quinn kissed him because he wanted Brady to kiss him back. 

Like. In a world where Brady’s allowed to really consider that option, that would be reasonable, right? Brady might not be the best looking, but he’s got some good features, and he knows he makes Quinn smile, which definitely counts for a lot. It’s not unthinkable that Quinn could maybe have kissed him because he wanted to kiss him. Or, it wouldn’t be unthinkable, if Brady were allowed to think about it, which he’s obviously not, but— 

Okay. So. If the rules Brady set for himself way back when it came to Quinn didn’t exist, and Brady had no stake in any of this and was just an incredibly well-informed neutral third party, he could say that it might be a good idea to consider that maybe Quinn had wanted to kiss Brady, for whatever reason. 

And even though Brady’s head can’t really wrap itself around that idea, he thinks it might make sense. Quinn kissed him, which probably means that, on some level, he  _ wanted  _ to kiss him. 

Assuming that Quinn wanted to kiss Brady, then Brady not kissing him back would’ve… probably kind of sucked for Quinn, and that’s why he left. 

It’s. Not something Brady should think about. Because thinking about it feels way too optimistic, even if Brady’s not sure what he’s hoping for. Like— he doesn’t want Quinn to have feelings for him, right? That would be complicated and messy and confusing, when this whole thing is already way too complicated, Brady’s not sure he could handle this becoming any messier, and there’s not even room for it to  _ get  _ more confusing. 

It would be a huge fucking problem, if Quinn wanted him like that, but Brady can’t help but feel like it’s a problem he’d want to have on his hands. 

Realistically, it’s probably none of those things in their entirety, and maybe a mix of all of them. Brady knows that much. 

He doesn’t know much else, though. 

So. He thinks about Quinn. 

…… 

_ Matt _

Brady’s door is open when Matt walks by. 

“Hey,” Matt says from the threshold. Brady, who’s lying on his side and probably scrolling through Instagram, looks up from his phone. “Can we talk?” 

Brady shrugs. “Sure.” 

He doesn’t sound mad, which is good, but Matt doesn’t hear much reassuring beyond that. “I mean… are we good?” 

“Obviously not,” Brady says. “You hooked up with my best friend.” 

Matt tries not to let that sink right to the pit of his stomach. It’s objectively good that Brady’s being upfront, even if it feels bad to hear. “Right, uh— I’m, y’know. Sorry.” 

Brady shrugs again, but doesn’t say anything. 

“I heard you guys fighting,” Matt continues, “And if you want to talk about it—” 

“He kissed me,” Brady says finally. His voice is a little quiet, but Matt can hear that he’s just— lost.

Maybe he should’ve seen this coming, but… god,  _ what?  _ Matt knows Quinn has baggage, but he would’ve never thought his friendship with Brady was part of it. If he’d known that it could hurt the two of them…

Well. 

Let’s put it this way: Matt’s no stranger to bad choices, but he’d probably die before letting Brady get caught up in any of them.

“That’s… heavy,” Matt says, trying to sound neutral.

Brady shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”

Matt waits for a second to see if Brady’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t.

“Well,” Matt says, “do you know what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Clearly not,” Brady says. “I don’t even know what my options are.”

“The way I see it, it’s— y’know. Turn him down, or… uh. Work things out.”

Brady gives him a confused look. “What?”

“Like, if he kissed you, then he probably—”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Brady says. “He didn’t ask me to— or, like, offer to—” 

“Well, yeah, but if he kissed you, then he probably wants to.”

“And we’re just gonna assume that?” Brady says, sounding kind of frantic.

“Well— yeah,” Matt says. “That’s sort of what that means, right?”

“But—” Brady blinks, opens and closes his mouth a few times, but eventually settles on just shaking his head. “I don’t know if that’s true, man.”

“Well, I know this stuff is tricky, but you have to at least… think about it, right?”

“No,” Brady says immediately, and then, after a beat, “Or— I mean. Do I?”

Matt shrugs. “I think you should.” 

“But what if—” Brady bites his lip, furrows his brow. “What if I can’t?” 

“What?” 

“Like— what if I can’t?” Brady repeats. “Because I don’t think I… can.” 

Matt tries to keep his confusion out of his voice. “Why not?” 

“Because I just— I can’t,” Brady says. “Like, if I think about that, then I have to think about… about what I’d  _ do  _ about it, right?” 

“Right,” Matt says. 

“And I can’t do that.” 

“So you’re saying you just— what, hate the thought of turning him down?” 

Brady’s face reddens. “Well… yeah. I guess.” 

Again, Matt waits for more, but Brady doesn’t offer an inch. “It sounds like there’s more to it, bud.” 

“W— I— maybe,” Brady says. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, I guess.” 

“You wanna give it a shot?” 

Brady nods, then furrows his brow and thinks for a few minutes. He’s staring at his hands, and Matt just waits, because, contrary to popular belief, he actually is capable of being patient, when it comes to shit that matters.

“Okay, so— don’t judge, alright?” Brady says. “Like, you— you hooked up with him, so you can’t judge me if this comes out as—” He gulps. “Got it?” 

“Of course,” Matt says, and he feels his heart reach out for Brady, just a little. 

Brady nods. “So, like. Obviously, if he— y’know. I mean, I don’t… it would suck to turn him down, right? He’s, like, my best friend, and I don’t want to lose him, and, like— thinking about not having him around  _ seriously  _ fucks me up. Like, it actually— it’s kind of scary, man.” 

Matt nods. He’s not equipped for this conversation, probably, but fuck it, he’s gonna be a good fucking brother about this. If Brady needs him, Matt won’t let him down. 

“And I feel like I should turn him down,” Brady continues, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he speaks. “Like, that’s the— the right choice. The considerate choice, or whatever. Because it would be super shitty to lead him on, and I  _ know  _ that, but then there’s this part of me that’s like—” He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “It would be, like, really messed up of me to…  _ not  _ turn him down, just because I’m afraid of losing him, right?” 

“Um,” Matt says, because he can tell Brady needs to hear something. “Potentially.” 

Brady deflates. He looks a little numb. 

“But,” Matt says, because it’s not—

On the one hand, yeah, it  _ would  _ suck if Brady tried something that was doomed to fail and end in heartbreak, all because he wanted to hold onto his best friend for a few extra weeks or months or days, or however long it would be before it crashed and burned. That would suck, and they’d end up angry, and Brady might actually lose his best friend, and Quinn would feel lied to, and the whole thing would fucking suck. 

At the same time, there’s a difference between knowing something won’t work out, and not knowing  _ if  _ it will work out. And even people who don’t have to deal with confusing sexuality stuff and a lifetime of friendship don’t have the benefit of knowing it will work out. There’s always some risk, and there are a million things that might not line up that make two people wrong for each other, but everyone at least tries, right?

So Matt says, “Look. I’m new to this, the whole… being gay thing.” The word still feels weird to say out loud, but he powers through. “I just started figuring my shit out a few months ago, and, like, I’m still figuring my shit out now. So just— let me tell you something I wish someone had told me a long time ago.” 

Brady snorts. “That’s an old person sentence.” 

“Whatever,” Matt says. He’s mentoring, he’s allowed to use mentor phrases. “Look, it’s okay to not realize how you feel until something  _ makes  _ you realize it. And you don’t always know, like, automatically, deep down, and it doesn’t— it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It sometimes takes some time to figure this shit out.” 

“I mean, like— there’s nothing wrong with being gay, obviously? I just don’t think I… am.” 

“Alright,” Matt says, not letting an ounce of skepticism into his voice. “But, like, if you were— how do you think you’d feel about Quinn?”

And that’s when Matt sees it— a flash of  _ oh  _ in Brady’s eyes, faint but clear, even in profile. He’s not sure what conclusions are starting to form in Brady’s head, but he knows that they’re forming, and that means he said the right thing. 

“I mean, plenty of people— like, that doesn’t mean—” 

“I’m not saying it means anything,” Matt says. “Just that it’s worth considering.”

“Don’t they say it’s not a choice? Like, you’re supposed to be ‘Born This Way’ or whatever?”

Matt shrugs. “Well, yeah, but— sometimes you have to make the choice to let yourself want things. It’s complicated shit.”

“But that seems too easy,” Brady says. “I shouldn’t just be able to do that.” 

He’s shaking a little, and Matt kind of wants to hug him, but he settles for giving his back a reassuring pat. 

“I get it,” Matt says. “But, like, in this case— I think you can.”

Brady looks terrified at that, but a little thrilled, and Matt’s never been this proud of someone in his  _ life _ .

…… 

_ Brady _

So there’s a word, right?

Or, okay— there are a fuckton of words, obviously. Brady’s seen dictionaries, and those motherfuckers are huge. But there are some words that are scarier and more intriguing than others, because they’re words you discover when you’re browsing the internet late at night trying to refresh yourself on how to be a good friend when your friend comes out, because you haven’t thought about it in over a year, and you wanna make sure you don’t fuck up something super basic. 

Because you’re a modern man with a smartphone, so obviously, you can google shit. 

It’s not going the extra mile so much as going the mile you need to get from point A to point B.

So, anyway, you’re googling shit about gay people, right? And you stumble across the whole acronym— LGBT. Standard stuff. You know that LGBT means ‘gay people, etc.’ but you sort of forget what the ‘etc.’ is. 

So you look up the individual letters, obviously. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender. 

Lesbian and gay make sense. You didn’t realize transgender people were a part of the acronym, but it also makes sense. Based on the shit people say, it’s not hard to imagine why there would be some overlap there, or, like, solidarity. You actually feel sort of bad for not thinking of it in advance. 

But then there is: bisexual. 

You’ve heard of bisexual people before. Your brother’s friend’s on-again, off-again girlfriend sometimes hooks up with other girls, so you know it’s possible for people to be attracted to both. You just didn’t know that meant that she was like…  _ gay,  _ even though hooking up with girls probably makes her kind of gay, in retrospect. You think that’s just what girls do. You don’t know if every girl who hooks up with other girls would think that makes them gay, but you figure it’s not really any of your business. 

That’s just girls, though. 

You’re not really sure how it works for guys. 

You think about looking into it, but you’re not sure what you’d do with that information. It doesn’t really matter that much to you. It would probably be weird to look it up, because you’re only here to look up shit to be a good friend to your best friend, who happens to be gay. This isn’t about you, this is about him. 

You forget about the word for a while. 

You start to label yourself in other ways— an ally when pressed, ‘heteroflexible’ when you’re joking around and you’ve maybe had a few drinks, a straight guy with an open mind by default. Nothing that actually makes you a part of any of it. 

You fall hard for two girls, both break your heart, both end up being your friends eventually. You hook up intermittently, find you enjoy it immensely. You’re reckless and make bad, impulsive decisions, because you’re a teenage boy; you try not to hurt people too badly, and you’re not perfect, but you do okay. 

You have a few regrets. 

And then, one day, your best friend kisses you, and it fucks you up. 

Your best friend kisses you after he hooks up with your brother, but you don’t even care about that part. You know you could be mad about it, but you really don’t want to be. You wonder what’s got him so upset that he’s even confusing you, and you decide, at some point, that whenever you figure out what it is, you’re going to immediately forgive him. Because you don’t want to be mad at him, and you know that he’ll let you push him into doing the work to make things better. You still trust him to be a good friend. You know he’s worth trusting. 

You wonder, for a tiny second, if he’s acting like he hates you because he likes you, and then you can’t stop thinking about it. 

And then, at some point, you start to wish that you could like him back, and then all of a sudden, that word is back in your head. 

_ Bisexual.  _

You’re pretty sure you really do like girls, but if this word is out there, that doesn’t mean that you can’t like boys, too.

Maybe you can like this one boy, at least. The one who really matters. 

Because if he likes you, then you really, really,  _ really  _ want to like him back. You want that so badly it kind of makes your heart hurt. You want that so badly that it starts to feel like you just want him. 

And there’s no good word to describe what that feels like, but this one… it makes something make sense, at least. 

…… 

_ Quinn _

Quinn’s cooled down substantially by the time he returns to the Tkachuk house. 

It’s not all better; he’s still mad at himself, and pissed off about the situation in general, but at least now he’s thinking clearly enough to recognize that the whole thing is his fault. Mostly, he’s just embarrassed, on top of being super fucking guilty. 

He’s going to apologize, obviously. He’d kind of understand if Brady didn’t forgive him, but he’s still going to apologize. Maybe clear up why the fuck that happened, if Brady hasn’t already figured it out. 

The truth is, Quinn feels guilty. He feels guilty every fucking day over this shit. Half the time it feels like the worst unfairness ever—the Brady thing—but the other half of the time, he feels angry at himself for not doing something about it, or moving the fuck on. 

It just— it sucks, okay? It sucks to feel yourself growing more and more resentful of your best friend while he remains blissfully unaware, to be stuck in some limbo of your own indecisive creation because you didn’t want to own up to your feelings and deal with them.

Quinn really fucking loves Brady, and he’s done jack shit to actually fight for him, or for their friendship.

He feels like a fucking failure, honestly.

He lets himself into the Tkachuk house, hoping against hope that he’ll be able to sneak up to his room and be left alone for a while, but of course, be bumps into Brady before he can even get to the staircase. 

“I heard someone come in,” Brady says. “So I was just checking that it was you.”

“Well, it’s me,” Quinn says awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” Brady says, and Quinn doesn’t know what to make of the way Brady’s looking at him—like he’s noticing something new, this many years into their friendship—so he looks away. 

“I was just—“ he nods in the direction of the stairs. “Heading to my room. I’ll, uh, stay out of the way.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Brady says, and Quinn can hear the frown in his voice. It’s really unfair that Quinn can stand in front of a grown man twice his size and still feel like he’s telling a kid there’s no such thing as Santa Claus, but such is friendship with Brady. He really is a golden retriever of a person.

“Dude, I love you, but… I really don’t want to talk about all this right now,” Quinn says. “I’m sorry, but, like— y’know.” He doesn’t know how to say,  _ I wish I could be a better friend to you, but I really can’t, and I need a break from feeling guilty before I’m ready to actually stop being terrible.  _ He hopes the sentiment comes across.

“Alright,” Brady says after a beat. He sounds calmer than Quinn is expecting. “We can just— hang out, you know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Quinn runs a hand through his hair. “But we should.” 

“I know we  _ should, _ but— can’t it wait?”

“Till when?” 

“I don’t know, later. Tomorrow, even,” Brady says. “Let’s just… cool off tonight. It’s been a shitty day.” 

Quinn feels a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” Brady says, giving him the tiniest smile, and that’s when it hits Quinn that he’s already been forgiven. It makes his heart do something genuinely humiliating, but he’s able to ignore it. 

“Thanks,” he says.

Brady shrugs. “Of course.” Then, “So, did you wanna watch a movie or something?” 

“Sure,” Quinn says, because… yeah, taking a beat to cool off does sound nice. Just, like, something normal, to make Quinn feel like the world will be back to spinning on its usual axis, eventually.

Except that’s not what happens.

Because they’re watching the movie, right, and everything Brady does feels… Quinn doesn’t even know. He’s sitting a little closer than usual, maybe, and his voice is just a little bit softer in this way that’s ringing in Quinn’s ears.

Quinn can’t tell what’s going on, if Brady’s doing this on purpose or if his brain is just exaggerating all of this. He can’t even figure out how he feels about it all, which, duh, Quinn’s spent their whole fucking friendship trying to figure out how he feels when things with Brady start to feel like too much. A part of it feels like he can’t breathe; another part of it feels like he couldn’t survive having any less. That’s just the day-to-day truth of his life. 

Quinn looks at Brady’s arm stretched over the top of the couch, follows it to his hand; his fingers are grazing the top of Quinn’s shoulder, and he can feel the heat radiating from them. “Um,” he says, nudging Brady’s leg with his own. 

Brady turns to him. “Hm?” 

Quinn glances at Brady’s hand, then back at Brady. “I, uh, know we said we’d talk about this later, but there’s something you should…” His voice trails off. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brady look at his hand, then feels Brady’s gaze on him, which would be a lot harder if they weren’t in a dark room with a movie playing. 

“Oh,” Brady says, and Quinn doesn’t even bother to try and figure out what kind of  _ oh  _ that is. “I mean.” 

Cautiously, Brady’s hand moves to rest on Quinn’s shoulder. 

Quinn’s heart stops. 

“Is this okay?” Brady asks quietly, like that’s somehow a question Quinn can even imagine answering, like a word as mild as  _ okay  _ could describe any part of this situation. 

Instead of answering, Quinn just moves closer to Brady, rests his head on his chest experimentally. He’s not sure what’s going on, but whatever this is, he must be reading it right, because Brady responds by slinking his arm over Quinn’s shoulder entirely, letting his hand grip lightly at Quinn’s bicep. 

After a beat, he rubs a small, soft circle with his thumb, skimming at the hem of Quinn’s t-shirt sleeve. 

“Thanks,” Brady whispers, and Quinn pretends not to hear it, even though Brady’s mouth is right by his ear. In his defense, Brady’s heart is beating in his other ear, and Quinn can’t help but notice that it’s going really fucking fast. 

He’s not sure what this is, if it’s some kind of goodbye, or just— something else, but he does know that he wants this, and that he’s wanted this for a long time. 

So.

…… 

_ Brady _

Brady wakes up with a weight on his chest and an ache in his back. 

The latter, he realizes, is caused by the fact that he fell asleep sitting up last night, which he immediately regrets. His neck isn’t feeling too awful, but it’s still a little off, which isn’t fun. Plus, falling asleep on the couch means he didn’t change into pajamas or brush his teeth last night, which means he can feel the waistband of his jeans digging into his hips, and his mouth tastes nasty. So, generally speaking, he feels like total garbage. 

Well. He feels mostly like garbage, with the exception of the weight on his chest, which is actually… kind of nice. Comforting. Almost like he’s being— 

Brady opens his eyes abruptly, looks down, and realizes a few things. 

First off: his hand is resting on Quinn’s hip, because Quinn’s body had collapsed onto his a little more at some point in his sleep, and he’d inadvertently shaken Brady’s hand off his shoulder. Which is fine, but it also pretty fucking intimate, first thing in the morning, especially when Brady’s already got this nagging sense that things between them are fragile. 

Secondly: Quinn’s eyelashes are long. 

Obviously, Brady knows what Quinn’s face looks like. He even know what Quinn’s face looks like when he’s asleep. He knows that Quinn snores when he’s sick and usually has his mouth hanging open a little first thing in the morning, and that his hair can get fucked up in the most hilarious ways.

But here’s the thing: Quinn is asleep in Brady’s arms, right, and Brady’s… 

God, he doesn’t even know where to  _ start. _

Like, his heart? It feels  _ full _ . He didn’t even realize that his chest could feel this heavy in a good way, but this feeling is definitely just— overwhelming and  _ amazing.  _ He feels trusted and lucky and absolutely fucking breathless, and Quinn is just asleep on him, warm and comfortable, and he  _ fits.  _ It’s intimate as fuck, and Quinn just—

Alright, Brady’s gonna say it: Quinn looks fucking beautiful. 

Like, holy fuck, he just— any time he’s ever said ‘no homo’ was for sure just a lie, right, because these feelings are pretty fucking gay. Or, like, bi, or whatever. But the point is, in a way that is absolutely 100% not straight, he is a dude who really wants to gently touch another dude’s sleeping face, and like, eventually kiss him, and maybe do other stuff, too.  _ Full  _ homo. 

Brady just stares at Quinn for something between a few seconds and twenty minutes, which is probably very telling. The only reason he stops is because Quinn’s eyes slowly start to blink open.

“Ugh, fuck,” Quinn says, rolling off of Brady. “Sorry.”

“You don’t—” Brady wants to say,  _ have to leave,  _ but he figures that’s unwise. “No apology necessary.” 

“Alright,” Quinn says, and he looks kind of like he wants to get off the couch, but, to Brady’s surprise, he doesn’t, just puts his hands on his thighs and sort of winces. “I guess… we should talk about it, then.” 

So they’re just… doing this. First thing in the morning. 

“Do you want some coffee first, or—”

“No, no coffee,” Quinn says. 

“Okay.”

Quinn picks at some loose threads on the couch. “It’s… annoying,” he says, after a beat. “To have to, like, move on, or whatever. Like, I guess I should just get closure? But that’s—” He shrugs. “It kind of fucking sucks, or whatever.”

Brady doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, and that feels surprisingly sad. This has been weighing in Quinn for a while; Brady feels like a shitty friend for missing it. 

“I… think you’re a few steps ahead of me, man,” he says gently. Either that, or he’s not awake enough to follow the logic.

“Right,” Quinn says. “I guess I should start with, uh. You know.” 

Brady doesn’t know. He might suspect, but he doesn’t  _ know  _ anything. He doesn’t even know why they have to have this conversation right this second, considering Quinn looks like he’d rather be doing anything else. “Dude—”

“I don’t want to have feelings for you,” Quinn says quickly, like if he doesn’t let it all out in one breath, he’s afraid he’ll lose the words. “And I know it’ll go away eventually, but, like— I don’t know. Eventually’s not soon enough, I guess.” 

And the thing is, Brady knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but, like— it’s one thing to think your best friend  _ may  _ like you, and another to actually  _ know.  _

“Oh,” he says, trying to collect himself. 

“Yeah,” Quinn says. He sighs. “Look, I know it’s—” 

“We should try,” Brady says, before Quinn can finish that sentence. 

Quinn blinks. “What?” 

“We should try,” Brady repeats, the words coming out almost automatically. If he’s being honest, he’s not quite convinced that he’s awake. There’s a non-zero chance this whole thing is a dream, so, like. Fuck it. “Us. Together. We should… give it a go.” 

“But— you’re—” Quinn shakes his head a little, like he’s clearing his thoughts. “When I say I have feelings for you, I mean—” 

“We should go out for dinner,” Brady continues. “Somewhere nice. And it’ll be just the two of us, and I’ll pay, and it’ll be, like, a real date.” 

“I mean, we— could? But…” Quinn furrows his brow. “You… don’t date guys.” 

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” 

Quinn doesn’t give Brady an inch on the joke, which is fair. “You’re straight,” Quinn says. “You’ve always been straight.” 

“Things change,” Brady says. His palms are sweating. “You kissed me.” 

“I guess.” 

“That’s not an ‘I guess’ thing, you literally kissed me.” 

“Whatever,” Quinn says, waving that off. “What’s your point?” 

“My point is that  _ you kissed me,” _ Brady says. “And— and you have feelings for me, and I really don’t see any reason for us to not at least try. Right?” 

“You didn’t kiss me back,” Quinn points out. 

“I was surprised.” 

“Okay, but still—” 

And it’s probably not the best idea Brady’s ever had, kissing Quinn at that particular moment, but here’s the thing: he doesn’t want to have some pointless fight over whether his feelings are real just because Quinn is feeling stubborn, and he does, in fact, just kind of want to kiss him. 

It takes a few seconds and Brady’s hands cupping Quinn’s face, but Quinn does kiss back. 

Slowly, at first, like he’s not quite sure he’s supposed to, but then some switch must go off in his head, because he starts  _ really  _ kissing back, firm and fast and sure, and it’s just— a really fucking good kiss, okay? Quinn is a goddamn amazing kisser. 

Quinn laughs, and that’s when Brady realizes he might’ve said that last part out loud, but Quinn is  _ laughing  _ against his  _ mouth  _ and Brady couldn’t be paid to care about anything besides that, so he’s really not at all embarrassed about it.

…… 

_ Quinn _

Quinn feels like the worst person in the world.

He also feels… pretty great, actually, because he’s been kissing Brady for a large portion of the day, but, like. He feels kind of guilty at the same time. Not because of the kissing—he has no regrets about any part of that, to be clear—but because…

Well. He’s been a dick this summer. 

Granted, he’s more of a dick in his own head than he’s ever been to Brady’s face, but still, he’s spent most of this summer being angry and petty. 

“Hey, uh,” Quinn says, while they’re lying on Brady’s bed, idly scrolling through their phones. It’s a pretty typical Quinn-and-Brady activity, actually, except this time they’re both shirtless, and the lower half of Brady’s face is red from beard burn. 

Brady looks up. “What’s up?”

“Should we, like… talk about things?” 

“Oh,” Brady says, looking back down at his phone. “I mean, if you want to, we can.” 

Quinn furrows his brow. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

“I don’t not want to,” Brady says. “I just… sort of thought we were done talking, I dunno.” 

“We didn’t exactly finish the conversation,” Quinn points out, and it earns him a smirk. He’s so used to hating how much he likes smug Brady that he has to force himself to actually enjoy it. 

“We finished it in our own way,” Brady says. “Plus, I asked you to go to dinner with me. I think we’re both on the same page now. Right?” 

Quinn feels his cheeks flush. “I mean— yeah, for sure. Probably,” he says. “But I was also talking about the stuff… before.”

Brady’s face drops. “Oh,” he says. “That.” 

“I just don’t want—” 

“We don’t have to talk about that part,” Brady says. “Whatever you did with— like, it’s cool. We weren’t together yet.” 

_ Together  _ is a nice word to hear to describe him and Brady, but Quinn can’t really dwell on that. “I know, but it was still— like, we fought over it.” 

“But wasn’t that mostly about us, really?” 

“Sure, but—” Quinn lets out a huff, frustrated.

Here’s the thing:

He’s spent most of today being pretty happy, which means that he was wrong when he told himself his Brady thing would never end well for them, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t  _ believe  _ that for a long time, and it definitely doesn’t mean he didn’t act on those beliefs. 

It’s all getting sort of jumbled in his head, but it mostly boils down to this: 

“I’ve been an asshole this summer,” Quinn says. “And, like. I’m sorry.” 

And he hopes Brady doesn’t protest, doesn’t insist that it’s all  _ fine  _ when it hadn’t been, and  _ Quinn  _ hadn’t been. He really, really hopes that Brady doesn’t try to rewrite this in his head, just because he doesn’t like the fact that Quinn’s kind of a dick sometimes. Obviously Quinn’s not proud of that part of himself, but still— it’s part of him, and if they’re gonna do this right, they can’t just ignore the things they don’t like about each other. Quinn wants to take responsibility for this. 

“Alright,” Brady says after a beat. He nods. “That’s— yeah. Thanks.” 

Awkwardness lingers in the air, and Quinn punches Brady lightly in the arm to break it up. 

Brady snorts. “Good talk.” 

“Sorry,” Quinn says, his face turning red. “I’m not good at… conversations.” 

“I told you we didn’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to,” Quinn says. “I’m just not good at it.” 

“Well, I appreciate the effort,” Brady says. 

“Thanks,” Quinn says. “That was all I really wanted to say, I think.” 

“You sure?” Brady asks. 

“Yeah,” Quinn says, because for right now, he just wants them to acknowledge that he did some fucked up shit because he was in kind of a fucked up place. They don’t need to go into detail right now. Quinn doesn’t think he’s ready to do that quite yet. “For now.” 

“Alright,” Brady says. “Does this mean the serious stuff is over?”

Quinn smirks. “Are you telling me that making out isn’t serious?”

“Oh, I’m very serious about making out,” Brady says, and then he crawls over to Quinn, until he’s braced over him. God, he’s so  _ big _ . “It’s just a different kind of serious.”

“Fair enough,” Quinn says. He’s not proud of how easily he gets distracted, but whatever. He apologized, Brady heard him, and they’re going to keep working on rebuilding whatever Quinn broke between them when he was on a destructive streak. Eventually, Brady will actually understand enough to really forgive him, and they’ll have that trust back. 

But that will take some time. And hard work. And if they waited until they’ve wrangled all that, they wouldn’t be able to enjoy this now. Quinn wants to be responsible about all this, but he’s not gonna punish Brady—or himself—because he feels guilty. His guilt is his problem to deal with, y’know? 

Quinn’s new to this stuff, but he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be enjoying it. He’s starting to think that sometimes, letting yourself be happy  _ is  _ the smart decision.

Who knew.

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter, because Quinn’s best friend in the world is kissing him like he can’t get enough, and Quinn is embarrassingly obsessed with him. He’s got everything he wants right now, regardless of whether or not he deserves it.

So he’s gonna work on deserving it, and in the meantime, he’s gonna make out with Brady and enjoy it.

…… 

_ Matt _

It’s weird, for a few days.

Like, Matt’s so happy for them, he really is, but it’s honestly…

Okay, he’s gonna sound like the worst person in the world for this, but he really didn’t expect it to work out like this.

Not that he wasn’t rooting for them. Obviously he was—he is—but it’s just not something he’s ever really seen, a fucked up situation turning into… whatever it is Brady and Quinn have going.

Well. Okay. The thing Brady and Quinn have—even if they haven’t really figured out labels, as far as Matt can tell—is a  _ relationship _ . A sickeningly sweet one, and very much one in its early stages, but it’s still a whole, real, romantic relationship. They care about each other. They’re probably in love. They might really make it.

It’s a happy ending, is what it is.

Matt thinks they deserve it. Brady’s his little brother, so obviously he should always be happy, and Matt will punch the face of anyone who gets in the way of that. As for Quinn… Matt sees a lot of himself in Quinn, gross pun very much  _ not _ intended. He doesn’t think Quinn could’ve predicted this any more than Matt could have, because they both view the world the same way: as a zero sum game, where you either live the life you’ve always wanted, or you live a life you actually enjoy. Deep down, there’s a part of Matt that’s afraid to let himself want things in a real way, because he’s always worried about the consequences, but, like— 

Let’s put it this way: Quinn and Brady will have things to worry about too. They’ll have secrets to keep and problems to work through and things about themselves that they’ll have to understand or explain.

Those things aren’t stopping them from being happy.

And that’s kind of stunning, really, and gets Matt thinking about what he’s done for the last few months. He feels kind of cowardly, looking back on it all. Not the secrecy part, obviously, but… the rest of it. The part where he didn’t let himself think about what he actually wanted, because he’d already decided it wasn’t worth it, that it wouldn’t happen. 

But if Quinn and Brady can work their shit out, maybe there’s a happy ending out there for Matt, too. 

Well, not an ending, per se, but just… something he can hope for and work for. 

Something that might feel nice.

**Author's Note:**

> untagged things: quinn and matthew hook up. brady walks in on them in a compromising position (fully clothed but still intimate), which results in matt being outed. there's also a mild undercurrent of internalized homophobia (due to the ages old battle of expectation vs. self-acceptance) and lots and lots and lots and lots of really confused feelings. 
> 
> notes:
> 
> -if ur not aware, [quinn and brady](https://www.facebook.com/NHL/videos/role-playing-with-brady-tkachuk-and-quinn-hughes/10155464166622466/) are [best friends](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIw5lpGytk4) and they're [very cute about it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zw0n4hgrn9o) (they were both mic'd up for draft day and the [video](https://youtu.be/gJCrygFNHlI?t=185) [footage](https://youtu.be/z3zneF5nT_4?t=169) is VERY [distressing](https://youtu.be/qDGdBJq-vL0?t=117).)
> 
> -it took all of my willpower to not put "best friend's brother" on my fic playlist but i somehow managed. songs that did make the cut: "about a girl" by the academy is..., "real love" by carly rae jepsen, "start all over" by miley cyrus. 
> 
> -i probably owe matt a sequel.
> 
> i'm lottswrites on tumblr!


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